Interlude 84: Triumph Ceremony (III)

Yes, this was merely the beginning.

Calliphone was still gathering her thoughts, trying to reorganize her words, but the taste of blood had already spread through Perturabo's mouth.

Part of him was still here, silently watching the kin who should have died, while another part had returned to that living hell, submerged in a sea of blood. The chains binding him had sunk deep into blood and flesh, nearly becoming new bones.

A horde of daemons howled, committing blasphemous acts upon the corpses of his dead sons. Their leader whispered softly.

"We know that no matter how we torment you, you will not yield," it said, its pupils seeming to be twisted from ring upon ring of blood vessels. "But what does it matter? Violence will make you bow your head. Victory has slipped from your grasp."

"But this alone is not enough—victors ought to possess everything."

The stench of brimstone and flame erupted from its throat. The thing turned and briefly left him, though it wore an uncontrollable savage grin. It soon returned, bearing many shattered suits of armor fished from mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

Mottled rust had spread across their iron-gray surfaces. No matter what glory they had once witnessed, what careful maintenance and hopes they had received, all of it had now become nothing—they should have been their wearers' strongest shields against death, yet they had failed.

Just like him.

Bloodfire rose, burning and melting the armor. A bloody claw reached inside and shaped it. Its master clearly knew exactly what it wanted. Before long, the fragments of armor gradually became a weapon within the bloodfire.

"I will leave behind some proof of your failure," it said with a vicious grin.

The bloodfire died out. Carrying that weapon, it approached him. The weapon itself